


yet another time when beau winkles honesty out of caleb

by embraidery



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Emotional Baggage, Gen, a man and his cat, not technically canon compliant (backstory is not entirely canon compliant)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 08:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17321081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embraidery/pseuds/embraidery
Summary: Caleb tells Beau how he came to have Frumpkin.(would be general audiences except there's some swearing)





	yet another time when beau winkles honesty out of caleb

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote this before i had watched past ep 28 or so. i now know for sure that this is not at all how, or why, Caleb got Frumpkin, and this is not how Liam thinks of Frumpkin (I've gone with the fanon long-haired orange tabby appearance), but think of it as what happened in a parallel universe or something. It's also possibly not how familiars work in d&d, but again,, 
> 
> this was a secret santa gift. hope you enjoy, and I'm sorry it's so late!

Caleb found that he really enjoyed going on watch. His favorite times to sit the watch were the second and third watches, when he’d had a chance to unwind after the trials of the day. The world was silent and still except for his watch partner and Frumpkin. Caleb was surprised to find that he found the presence of another person reassuring, whether or not they talked, and he enjoyed having whispered conversations under the stars. His budding friendship with Beau was the most surprising thing. Her practicality and bluntness were refreshing when his late-night brain began to spiral down into tangled swamps of emotion.

 

One night Nott had gone to bed early with a cold. Caleb made her a big bowl of soup, an unusual treat, before taking the first watch with Beau. Most of it had passed quietly as the other members of their party got into bed, talking softly amongst themselves. Molly dawdled over his tarot cards while Jester stayed up late drawing in her notebook. Eventually everyone had drifted off to sleep and the fire had burned down to embers. Frumpkin, satisfied that there was no one in the woods anywhere near them, had settled himself in Caleb’s lap under his cloak. He knew from extensive watch experience that he shouldn’t purr, in case it alerted nearby creatures to their presence, so he settled for kneading Caleb’s thigh with his massive paws. Only the orange tufts on the tips of his ears poked out of Caleb’s cloak.

 

“How come Frumpkin’s a cat?” Beau asked.

 

“Why is Frumpkin a cat? I do not know what you mean.”

 

“Why do you like him most as a cat?” 

 

“Ah.” Caleb lifted one hand under the cloak to scratch Frumpkin’s chin. He felt the familiar tickle at the back of his mind as Frumpkin mentally sent him the sensation of sitting in front of a warm fire. “Well, he prefers being a cat.”

 

“How do you know?” Beau frowned slightly.

 

“Do you know much about the bond between a, a user of the arcane arts and their familiar?” Caleb asked. 

 

“You do the freaky shit where you can’t see ‘cause you’re in his eyes.” 

 

One corner of Caleb’s mouth quirked up. “ _ Ja _ , I can do that ‘freaky shit.’ Frumpkin and I...communicate...by thinking about images, or, or, feelings, we want the other to see.” Beau frowned. “There’s a knack to it. I can send him specific images, but we also communicate with more general feelings.”

 

“What does he tell you?” Beau asked, leaning forward.

 

“Most often he sends a warm feeling, a sort of furry feeling. When he is happy and wants to be affectionate.” Caleb continued to scratch under Frumpkin’s chin. “He sends those feelings no matter what form he is in, and when I have left him as something else for too long, he sends me images of himself as a cat or images of me performing the spell to change his form.” 

 

“That’s wild,” Beau breathed.

 

“I also just like him as a cat,” Caleb said. He paused as Frumpkin sat up and stretched, poking his head out of the cloak.

 

“Have you always had him?”

 

Caleb sighed and ran his fingers through Frumpkin’s thick mane, not looking up at Beau. “No.”

 

“Come on, man,” Beau said, leaning back against the boulder from which they were watching the forest. “How is the story of how you got your fuckin’ cat part of your tragic backstory?”

 

Caleb huffed, torn between amusement and annoyance. Frumpkin, sensing his discomfort, looked up at him and blinked slowly. Caleb caught the familiar feeling and smell of warm fur, focusing in return on the feeling of Frumpkin tucked snugly in Caleb’s cloak as they rode on horseback. Frumpkin gently butted his head into Caleb’s stomach before curling up on his lap once more.

 

“I learned how to do the spell when I was at the academy,” Caleb said slowly. “But I didn’t give him this shape, or name him, until I was at the...asylum.” He took a deep breath before spinning the rest of the tale for Beau, pausing often to collect his thoughts.

 

Caleb hadn’t really been an animal person as a child, no more than anyone else. There’d been feral cats and barn cats running around his village, but he was warned to stay away from most of them in case of bites or scratches. By the time he’d retreated to Ikithon’s cabin, he’d been even less of an animal person, head filled with lofty ideals of empire and power. In his softer moments, though, when he lay on the grass and daydreamed about his love, he’d take a moment to watch birds flutter through the trees. 

 

It was when Caleb retreated to the asylum that he decided to try summoning a familiar again. He was nearly constantly miserable. The workers and other inhabitants tried to comfort him, but their words often did more harm than good, so he thought it might help to have a companion that couldn’t talk. . He gathered the ingredients for  _ find familiar  _ bit by bit, hoarding coppers and persuading the kitchen workers to bring him incense, charcoal, and herbs. His project kept him busy for the months it took to prepare. As he stored the ingredients in the secret box under his bed, he thought about what he wanted his familiar to look like. When he’d performed the magic at the academy, he’d chosen the intimidating forms of hawks, snakes, and massive spiders. This time he wanted a cat.

 

An hour, it turned out, was a very long time to think about a cat. Caleb’s only experience with them was with the half-wild cats of his childhood. He remembered offering a bit of bread to a white cat with startling blue eyes in an alleyway, the cat moving forward an inch at a time, belly in the dust. His mother had come by and snatched him up, startling the cat into nearby bushes. He hadn’t interacted with them much since then. 

 

With five minutes or so to go, his cat started taking shape within a miniature cloud of blue fog. Caleb could see the elegant shoulders, the ears, the curve of the back. Caleb closed his eyes and continued to draw upon his power to bring his cat into being. When he opened them again, his cat was huddled on the floor in front of Caleb, just where the blue cloud had been. He seemed to be made of ears and paws. He couldn’t have been older than six months or so, though maybe his scrawny frame made him look younger than he was. He looked up at Caleb and meowed. 

 

Caleb went to the kitchen and brought back a bowl of milk and a hunk of old bread that he crumbled into the milk. He set the bowl on the floor in front of the kitten and sat on the ground by the door, sitting still as possible, watching the kitten. The kitten lashed his tail from side to side as he approached the bowl, cautiously sniffing the milk before beginning to devour his meal. His whiskers, much too long for his tiny body, drooped over each side of the bowl. When he looked up and meowed, milk dripped from his nose. 

 

“Done already?” Caleb asked, looking in the bowl. “I’m going to dinner soon. I think we might have meat tonight.” He thought about the meat the cooks had gotten that morning, cheap because the butchers had dropped it in the dirt, but still fresh and juicy. He was startled to feel the edge of a hunger not his own, in his mind rather than in his stomach.

 

“Did you do that?” he asked the kitten. He got a mental image of flesh torn from the tiny bodies of mice. “Well, I didn’t think that.” He focused on that mental image of the side of beef they’d have that night and got a purr in return--a real one. He held one hand out and was rewarded with the kitten moving forward to butt his head into Caleb’s hand. Caleb watched as the kitten clambered into his lap, turned around a few times, and tucked himself into a tiny ball.   
  


“What should I call you?” Caleb asked, cautiously stroking the cat’s head. “Siegfried?” He tried out a few different names, but none felt quite right. He spent the afternoon carefully watching his new companion. The cat was very elegant despite his ragtag appearance, washing himself delicately and keeping his tail wrapped tightly around his little body. His eyes were bright and constantly moving, taking in his surroundings and keeping track of insects and rats moving inside the walls. His ears flickered back and forth as quickly as his eyes did.

 

Throughout the afternoon, Caleb was bombarded with the little cat’s feelings. They were mostly thoughts about the creatures in the walls, or hunger, which Caleb remedied with more food. Sometimes the kitten would look up at Caleb, and Caleb would get sort of an inquisitive feeling. He thought the very edge of it was tinged with affection, though he wasn’t sure yet. Perhaps just wishful thinking. Caleb realised at one point that probably all his feelings were being broadcasted to the cat as well. He wondered how to control their connection. He looked at the cat and deliberately thought about a mouse. The kitten, who had been chasing a dust bunny across the floor, immediately came to attention. Caleb got the kitten’s mental image of pouncing on the mouse and playing with its corpse. Then Caleb tried to drop mental walls down around the mental mouse. The kitten flickered his ears before returning to the dust bunny. Caleb lifted the mental walls, and the kitten perked up again. There. 

 

Caleb thought very carefully before thinking about the mouse and the walls in an effort to tell the kitten how to control what he sent Caleb. The kitten cocked his head. Caleb got an image of a bowl of milk, then nothing, then a bowl of milk.  _ Triumph!  _ he thought to the cat. He held out his arms, and the kitten came over, rubbing his head against Caleb’s arms and torso. Caleb got a feeling of warmth and contentment, and he was sure he was broadcasting the same. 

 

“How did you come up with his name?” Beau asked Caleb, her voice breaking into his reverie.

 

“One of the cooks suggested the name.” 

 

Caleb had intended to leave his kitten in his room while he went to dinner, and he sent the cat thoughts to communicate that, but the kitten jumped up to his shoulder and dug his claws in. Caleb sent him images of feeding the cat scraps of meat in their room, but the kitten thought back an image of them leaving the room together. 

 

Caleb sighed. “You have spirit, don’t you?” he asked the cat. Together they made their way into the dining room. Many of the other guests came up to Caleb asking if they could pet his cat and asking where he’d come from.

 

“I found him this morning,” Caleb said evasively. The kitten took the attention in stride, beginning to purr and leaning forward off Caleb’s shoulder. When they sat down to eat, he hopped off Caleb’s shoulder and weaved his way between cauldrons and goblets, accepting scraps from everyone. 

 

“Does he have a name?” asked one of the cooks, coming by to take an empty soup cauldron back to the kitchen.

 

“Not yet,” Caleb said, looking down the table at the kitten. 

 

“He looks like a Frumpkin,” said the cook. “He’s very cute.” She smiled at the kitten. 

 

“Frumpkin.” Caleb rolled the name around his mouth. “I like that. Thank you.” 

 

The cook leaned in a little closer to Caleb. “I’m glad you have someone to look after you.” She smiled and left the table.

 

Caleb frowned, puzzling over her meaning. He was interrupted by Frumpkin, who came down the table and sat by Caleb’s plate. His stomach, previously piteously narrow, was now swollen with food. “You’ve had a good time, have you, Frumpkin?” Caleb asked. He absorbed a flood of happy food-related images from Frumpkin. “I’m glad.” Frumpkin bumped his head into Caleb’s arm before hopping up to his shoulder again. 

 

Watching Frumpkin grow up kept Caleb busy. Frumpkin was a big favourite around the asylum, especially with the kids, but he caused more than his fair share of trouble. Caleb had to take care of all the rats Frumpkin brought him before Caleb explained that while he appreciated the thought, he (nor anybody else!) didn’t need any dead rats. He eventually built up a little pile of things for Frumpkin: a brush, a toy, a food bowl enameled with a bright pattern of fish. Other residents gave Frumpkin ribbons, buttons, bandanas, and other trinkets. Frumpkin relished the attention, of course.

 

“And you’ve had him ever since,” Beau said. “Where did the bandanas and ribbons go?” 

 

Caleb ran one hand over Frumpkin’s head. “I could only take a small handful with us when we left the asylum. Those got lost eventually. I suspect that Frumpkin liked getting gifts but not wearing them.” 

 

The day they left was a momentous one for both of them. They left with a single backpack containing Caleb’s clothes, books, spell things, a handful of rations, and some of Frumpkin’s toys. Frumpkin rode on Caleb’s shoulder. He sent Caleb an inquisitive feeling, like he’d been doing ever since Caleb announced his departure, and Caleb said the same thing he responded each time: “I don’t know, Frumpkin.” This time, he gripped the straps of his knapsack. “I suppose I’m off to find my fortune.” 

 

Back at the campfire with Beau, Frumpkin, who was languidly paying attention to what flickered through his mind from Caleb’s, flexed his paw to drag his claws across Caleb’s leg.

 

“Ow, Frumpkin!” Caleb exclaimed. He sent Frumpkin the mental image of him taking the truth of his journey and shoving it into a box so Beau wouldn’t see. Frumpkin rumbled deep in his throat. 

 

Firelight flickered in Beau’s eyes. “Quite a journey between then and now.”

 

“Yes,” Caleb said softly. “Not a story to be told tonight.” He looked over at the fire, which was starting to burn down entirely. “If I’m not mistaken, our watch is over.”

 

Beau flicked her eyebrows at him, a gesture so quick that it could easily be denied, but didn’t disagree. “I’ll wake the others. ‘Night, Caleb.”

 

“Goodnight, Beauregard.” 

 

Caleb scooped Frumpkin up into his arms and buried his face in Frumpkin’s fur. “It’s just you and me, cat,” he whispered. “We have to stick together.” Caleb disappeared into his bedroll, Frumpkin curled up between his neck and shoulder. Frumpkin gave Caleb one of his warm-fur thoughts, and Caleb sent it back. “Love you too, Frumpkin.” He slowly scratched behind one of Frumpkin’s ears. “Thank you.” In response to Frumpkin’s inquisitive feeling, he said, “For everything.” He slung one arm over Frumpkin to hold him close, and man and cat slipped into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

 


End file.
